


Stay with me

by RaymondHope



Series: Songs and Stories of the Seven Kingdoms [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, story telling, various characters (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26478886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaymondHope/pseuds/RaymondHope
Summary: There are parts in every story that hurt. With love and care though, even those pages can be turned.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Songs and Stories of the Seven Kingdoms [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679227
Comments: 33
Kudos: 32
Collections: Jorleesi Equinox Exchange -Fall 2020





	1. Let me read to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salzrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salzrand/gifts).



> To dearest Salzrand, here is my humble offering based on two prompts you have provided.  
> I took the notes you gave into consideration and tried to incorporate as much as I could into the works. Hope you like it!  
> Prompt 5: Books/reading-  
> Their bonding over and relationship with books.  
> Prompt 3: Only one bed-  
> No other rules.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mormont Library is special to a certain Knight.

“So, this is the impressive House Mormont Library.”

And it was impressive. Not as big as the one in the red Keep obviously, but for a small house with meagre means, that too one famous for a warrior culture, it was certainly extensive.

“Aye. Nothing grand, but it’s always worked fine for us.” Jorah rubbed a hand on the back of neck while looking around the room with a fond smile.

Ser Jorah Mormont, her husband, the King of Westeros, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

There were several other titles he could claim, he didn’t though. Getting him to accept the tittle of King had been difficult enough, initially he was willing only for consort, but later the North let her know that they would not let her treat one of their own with such disrespect. For once, she had been all too glad to have them assume the worst about her, for it allowed her to convince Jorah saying that it was to prevent rebellion. Later, Tyrion had practically begged him to accept ‘Lord and Protector’ as a matter of tradition.

Actually, Tyrion had begged him. He just insisted on denying it now that Jorah was crowned.

Not that he wore the crown. These days he didn’t even wear his armor. His fighting pits one was badly damaged in the Long Night, and the new one was, in his own words, far too intricate for him to wear it without occasion. Tyrion had a fit when he came dressed in common wools the morning they were to journey to Bear Island. Though they flew in on the dragons when they received words that their ship had docked on the island, Tyrion wanted the city to bid them farewell.

_“A King must dress as befitting his station.”_

_“A rider must dress such that his clothing does not get caught in those spikes.”_

Daenerys had laughed, Tyrion had fumed. Jorah had ignored them both and mounted Rhaegal.

Now though, Daenerys could see that he was dressed perfectly. His brown and grey wools, blended right in with the Island. Jorah belonged here. He was as adaptable as a man as he was as a warrior. Dress him as a King, and he looked it, among the Dothraki he could be as nomadic as required by them, in the lower fighting pits, she hadn’t recognized him as more than a menial swordsman till he removed his helm, but it was here, in Mormont Keep, on Bear Island, that he truly looked like himself.

He was made here, an only son to an only son, the heir to Bear Island, Lord Mormont was the title he was born for. And he did have it, for a time. Though he left, the island folk hated his last southern wife, lady Hightower, rather than him. They would have gladly taken him back, should he have chosen to return. Of all the people of Westeros, none had been happier to know that he would be their King.

“Are you done staring at me?”

His words brought Daenerys out of her thoughts. “Oh, um, yes.”

He smirked.

“Well, can you blame me Ser? You do look quite handsome today.” She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Bear Island suits you.”

His hands came around her waist, draping over her almost lazily, “It is better than King’s Landing with its pigshit smell and all those fancy silks you and Tyrion make me wear.”

“You are a King. And may I remind you that the city is being cleaned up?”

“Not fast enough in my opinion. What I am is a Knight, one who has been named a King to satisfy the Kingdom I come from. Why the Dornish didn’t start a rebellion is anyone’s guess.”

The Dornish prince already had a paramour, as did his sister. They were not very keen on marrying her in the first place. Jorah would know that had he been listening to Tyrion.

“Enough of that. Show me the books you read a child.” She bit her lips, teasing him just a little, “Assuming of course, that you have not yet forgotten? That is a risk with people your age.”

She could see a tinge of red under his beard, “I am not that old. Yet.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth.

He smiled and led her towards the long and numerous rows that stood in the hall. The walls were all adorned with long banners of the house, torches placed at regular intervals. There was single fireplace, larger than usual, in front of which lay a bearskin rug and a couple of armchairs.

“These are the books my mother read to me when I was a young boy. Maege read the same ones to her daughters. They are mostly about the legends of the North, and some of the other kingdoms.”

She wished she could say that they would read the same to their children, but who knew if she could have any. She just smiled at him and began perusing the titles. A few books were missing.

“Why is this spot empty?”

Jorah tilted his head to the side, trying to recall from his memory what originally occupied the empty space. “Uh… I believe the few books I took with me, when I… uh… left, are supposed to be here.”

Daenerys giggled, “The ones you gifted me for my wedding?”

Jorah bit his lip and looked towards his boots, smiling bashfully.

Daenerys laughed. “I suppose I ought to return them to their original place?”

“You don’t have to. I gave them to you. They’re yours now.”

She glanced back to the empty space. “What about your father? Did he enjoy reading?”

Jorah snorted. “Not unless the book contained battle tactics or survival techniques. My father tortured me by forcing me to read tales of battles and wars all without any of the parts that might have made it interesting. Although, I suppose all that did come in handy when I was on the run.”

He looked around the library, “He never did care for the library. Come, I’ll read you my favorite tale. It’s about how King Rodrik’s life was saved by one of my ancestors for which he later won and gave Bear Island to House Mormont.”

The story was probably interesting, she wouldn’t know. The moment Jorah had sat them down on the chair in front of the fireplace, her back pressed against his chest, his arms around her coming to join at the book he kept in her lap, she found she couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

One hand constantly stroked at his thigh with one hand, while the other fiddled with his shirt’s drawstrings. She made sure to periodically nuzzle his neck under the pretext of shifting into a more comfortable position. To his credit, Jorah did not respond to her ministrations, and continued reading to her as if nothing was happening. His resolve finally broke when her hand brushed against his crotch.

He closed the book, “Alright you little minx.” Was all he said before he trapped her legs between his and pressed her hands to her sides while kissing her neck, scratching the sensitive skin with his beard. She twisted in his arms, laughing as he tickled her.

“Shouldn’t we be more respectful? We are after all, in a library.”

He bit her neck lightly, “You started it.” He picked her up and laid her on the rug sprawling out on top of her, “Besides, where do you think I was conceived if not in my mother’s favorite room.”

She laughed, “I can’t believe they told you that.”

He laughed with her, “They didn’t intend to. Father was ranting about my love for books over battle when he let it slip.”

They kissed again, and would have gotten much farther had they not been interrupted.

“One would expect the King and Queen of Westeros to have more propriety.”

Jorah stood up, pulling her with himself, and began straightening his tunic. “One would also assume that the King and Queen would be given more privacy.”

Lyanna Mormont smirked at him. “Go find a cabin in the woods if you want privacy. Come now, the hunting party is waiting and my sister in law asked for a tour of the Island.”

As they made their way towards the main gate, Daenerys whispered to Jorah, “Is there a cabin in the woods that would suit our needs?”

“Perhaps.”


	2. Let me read you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stories are shared only in special places.

“Well, here we are.”

“This is not how I expected to end up in a cabin in the woods.”

They were here because they ended up on the other side of the stream. The hunting party had been successful in taking down a bear that had developed a taste of human flesh and Lyanna, still limping from her injuries sustained in the long night, had shown her the most beautiful corners on this side of the island.

They just had to cross the stream to head back to the Keep before nightfall when it unexpectedly started to rain. The rain itself would not have impeded them, but as it happened the dam upstream broke before Jorah could help her cross. The rest of the party were already on the other side. After some discussion, Jorah decided that they would be able to cross lower down the stream where there was a turn, but they ended up being chased by wild shadow cats before they could. 

The result was that now they had made their way to an abandoned tiny cabin in the woods where they would spend the night and hopefully return in the morning.

“Jorah, there’s only one bed.”

Jorah was kneeling in a corner to see if he could light a fire, “Good thing we’re married.”

She sighed, “No, I meant, it’s only big enough for one person.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Seeing as you sleep on top of me every night, I still don’t see the problem.”

She shrugged, “Fair point.”

She looked around the cabin, it was mostly bare. Bare but furnished and stocked as well. Granted, no one had been here in the last couple of years, but the last person to come here ensured that it was habitable. There were some old candles and a solitary lantern. The walls had hooks for clothes and weapons and the floor was covered with a thick and warm rug. The bed was pushed into a corner and covered with a sheet. She removed the sheet to find a thick blanket along with a pillow. There were jugs for water and some utensils as well. The fireplace had plenty of kindling that Jorah had managed to lit.

“Jorah, do you know whose cabin this is.”

He stood up and backed away from the fireplace, moving to hand his heavy cloak on one of the hooks that adorned the wall. “It’s mine.”

She handed him her cloak as well, and picked up a brush to dust off the bed. “Yours?”

“Aye. I built it myself, several years ago. I used to come here so everyone would get some sleep without worrying about me.”

“Huh?”

He kissed her cheek. “There is a berry shrub behind the cabin, I’ll see if I can get us something to eat.”

She finished cleaning up the bed and got rid of some of the leaves from the floor as well, when she found a book under the bed.

It was a research book written by some Maester Gerald. It was titled ‘The endless war’. Turning the pages, she quickly discovered that it was not in fact some glorious tale of an ancient battle, but rather a study on the effects war had on soldiers. It documented cases about how men lost their minds after gruesome battles, unable to rid themselves of the images of mutilated bodies or the smell of blood and gore. There were cases of men who seemed fine during the day and went about their lives like normal, only to see something that reminded them of what they faced. There were several pages devoted to terrifying dreams at night from which men couldn’t wake on their own, or waking dreams that struck them at random.

She was reading about how some men lost use of their limbs, or their sight, or their ability to talk even though there was no physical cause for it when the cabin door opened and Jorah strode in brushing off the rain water from his shoulders and hair.

“I found some berries, here you go.” He handed them to her, she made sure to keep the book out of his sight. He wiped a pot and filled it with some snow and set it to boil.

“There might some spices, at least salt in that shelf.” He picked up his kill, “I only got one, the other got away. I’m sorry but this will have to do for tonight. You can feast on the bear tomorrow.”

“That will be fine. After months in the Red Waste, one night in the woods won’t kill either of us.”

He nodded, and went to work skinning the rabbit. She took the boiling water of the fire and poured it for them.

Once the rabbit was cooking, they sat down next to each other on the bed.

“Jorah, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

She held out the book to him. “Care to share this story.”

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall when he saw the book. “It’s not a nice story.”

“As long as it’s yours, I’ll hear it.”

He took her hand in his, and stared at them.

“I built this cabin myself, soon after Robert’s Rebellion. I was very young; my father had just abdicated in my favor when I went off to war along with most of my men. The Rebellion lasted for close to a year as you know, but it didn’t end there. At least not for me. I hadn’t been in such brutal fights before then. As the heir to Bear Island, my father kept me away from the frontlines whenever there was a raid on our shores. When I came back, I would be fine during the day, but at night…” he trailed off.

She could understand what he meant, after the long night, sleep had eluded her for months. Those sounds, that fear, the smell of death… it wasn’t something you could just walk away from. It would stay with them, forever.

“Why this cabin? Why did you leave your home?”

He came out of whatever thoughts he was lost in, “Hmm. Oh that, I only came here to spend the night sometimes. Walks in the forest, with the silence of nature, away from people, it calmed me in a way nothing else could. Made me feel more at peace. Eventually I built this cabin so that I would have a place to stay if I couldn’t make it back to the keep before sunset.”

“And your wife? Weren’t you married then?”

He nodded, “I was, yes. My first wife, the present Lord Glover’s sister. She was very kind, did everything I asked, let me do as I wished.” He met her eyes, “Sometimes she would hold me, the way you do.”

Daenerys moved closer to him, pressing her face into his chest. “I hold you to make sure that you don’t go away.”

He kissed her forehead, “As if I could ever leave you Khaleesi.”

Then he got up and fetched the rabbit, roots and berries. They made a decent meal, nothing grand like they were used to in the Red Keep, but simple, and delicious in its own charming way.

“It wasn’t until the Greyjoy Rebellion that I started spending more time here.” He said once they were done and lay down to sleep. She was curled up on his chest.

“Lynesse was the one who had her father send that old tome form Oldtown.”

“Ah yes, Lady Hightower. Tell me, where is that bitch?”

He cleared his throat, “Somewhere in Lys, last I heard. Although, in that she was justified. I almost beheaded her in my sleep.”

Daenerys sat up and looked down at him.

He licked his lips, and gave her an awkward smile. “My sword is out of reach, don’t worry.”

“Jorah!”

He sat up as well, and rubbed a hand down her back, “I was dreaming that I was back on Pyke. Somehow, I picked up my sword and slashed blindly giving her quite a fright. We hardly slept together after that. Took me several months, about a hundred apologies, and a few dozen gifts to get her to even sit in the same room as me. I can’t say I blame her for that.”

“I can. She should have been more compassionate.” Daenerys fumed while smoothing down his curls that were sticking up in every direction.

“Not everyone loved me the way you do. My aunt was not pleased with the fact that I had almost murdered my wife, and my cousins too young to understand. My father was away at the Wall, I could never talk to him about that. In the end, Maege, along with the household staff took over the day to day duties and chores, and let me roam in the woods, or sit by the eastern cliffs until I felt more like a man again.”

“Good thing I’m here now.” She loved him, in a way no one could. She kissed him, slowly, making sure he felt that. “You are never to leave.” She kissed his jaw, “Never to hide yourself from me.” She kissed his neck, nipping gently, “Never feel ashamed for anything.” her hand tangled in his soft curls. his hands went around her waist, as his eyes fluttered in the dim candle light. She pushed him back on the bed and straddled him, “I love you. And you are mine, just as I am yours.”

They reaffirmed their wedding vows, and held each other close all night. The bed was small, but it was enough for them. The cabin was where Jorah came to hide away from the demons that haunted his dreams. Tonight, while rain fell on the roof, and the sounds of the forest echoed around them, they lay in each others arms, talking, sometimes with words, sometimes in touches, sometimes just in looks, their eyes saying more than any word in any language could express. The night seemed to stretch on forever, but unlike the previous one which was death, this one had life. 

Years later, their son would stumble onto the cabin, wanting to escape from his princely duties, feeling a connection to the old place, just the way his father felt for the library. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap. A little exploration of PTSD in a medieval setting. I hope it was well explored.


End file.
